Free In Hazard by Richard Hughes Page A

files to be reminded of everything.
    So now that ill-luck had repeated history, and he was caught a second time, he might not be forgiven a second time. True, this time he had not flouted the text-books, he had done everything they recommend: and even then had got caught. Not a deliberate risk taken this time, just ill-luck. But he knew well that while a wise, deliberate risk may sometimes be forgiven, ill-luck is never forgiven.
    Yes, he had been worried. But that was only at first. For soon the storm reached such a height that plainly this was no longer an issue between himself and his Owners, but become an issue between himself and his Maker. That altered things. That suited him better. From then on, he was like an artist in a bout of inspiration.
    The boys were the turning-point; when they came rushing up on to the bridge, courageous themselves, and confident in him. It was they who lit him. Then, later, as the storm increased to its immense height, so the flame brightened: his whole mind and body were possessed by intense excitement. No room for thought of his Owners. No room in him for anything but a gigantic exhilaration, and a consciousness that for the time-being all his abilities were heightened.
    But back to the saloon. He was talking about the coming lull. “—shall need all hands then,” he was saying. “There may be trouble with the Chinese. I rely on you gentlemen to put that right. You know, as well as I do, there’s no danger to the ship if we all do our duty. By the afternoon it will all be over: be out in the sunshine. But the Chinese don’t know that: they think they’re going down. They’re ignorant, and they got the wind-up. And when a Chinaman gets the wind-up he sits on his behind and don’t do damn-all. It’s up to you to show ’em, gentlemen. Let ’em see in your faces there’s nothing to be afraid of. Then they’ll do all you ask ’em. Cheerfulness. You know we’re right as rain: well, let the Chinese see you know it.”
    A few moments later he popped his head back into the saloon. “When the lull comes, all Deck-officers will report on the Bridge.”
    He had to roar all that, to make himself heard.
II
    It was not till nearly two in the morning that the behaviour of the weather showed any change. Up till then, the wind had come upon them from the northeast almost in a single movement continuously. Now it grew fitful. It came from all sides, in blasts, as if big shells were being burst close about them. Gusts still very strong, but totally uncertain in direction.
    Some of these gusts, coming up from what had been leeward with the lifting-force of an explosion, almost seemed as if they could blast the heeled ship back on to an even keel. But the weight of her sodden cargo held her implacably down: and other gusts, coming again out of the east and north, instead pinned her even lower.
    Such an area of violent chaos, Edwardes knew, was commonly the torn fringe of the dead windlessness of a hurricane’s centre. That centre must at last be near. It might not give a long respite: they must be ready for it. He whistled down to the saloon to call the officers. He sent Buxton on a tour of the Chinese quarters.
    Buxton took his chance, in a dash across the well-deck, to reach the “sailors’ fo’c’sle.” It was a single large room, with bunks all along one side and both ends, each bunk with a different coloured curtain (for Chinese seamen are particular about privacy). The whole room is usually very neat and clean: practically no smell: a Chinese calendar hanging on the bulkhead. But it looked different now. It was washed right out. No curtains, no bedding, no calendar: swirling water, and some burst straw mattresses floating: bare bunks.
    No Chinamen there.
    On the opposite side were the petty-officers’ rooms. These, being meant for Europeans when the ship was built, were more comfortable than might seem